


Just One Word

by bogwitch268



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: All The Wardens, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Swearing, all the hawkes, all the quizzies, more tags added as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogwitch268/pseuds/bogwitch268
Summary: A series of short oneshots and drabbles across a variety of different Wardens, Hawkes, and Inquisitors, exploring their relationships, personalities, and lives, based on single-word prompts from towriteprompts.tumblr.com/onewordprompts. Variety of characters and relationships across three games, includes bits of fluff, bits of angst, and maybe one day even a lil bit of smut. See notes for individual chapter summaries!
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Leliana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 - Leliana offers Shirri Tabris a lesson in archery.

The arrow shrieked as it was let loose, sailing past the tree that had been its intended mark and lodging somewhere in the woodland floor. Shirri scowled.

‘I’m shit at this, Lel.’

Her redhead companion stifled a giggle. ‘No no, you’re getting better,’ she shushed, a slight grin curling at the corners of her lips. ‘I mean, at least this one went in the right direction.’

‘I missed.’

‘You’re overthinking.’

Shirri scowled again, the tips of her pointed olive ears tinging with crimson, and redrew the bow. Shirri Tabris didn’t like being bad at anything, but she was starting to get tired of all the anythings she seemed to be bad at. Diplomacy, putting up a tent, reading, keeping her temper… The list went on. Things that could be gained, eventually. With patience. Which was another anything far from Shirri’s strong points. Zevran had been teaching her some new tricks from the Crows – _trade secrets, my friend, but anything for you_ – and that had been _easy_. Hunting was _easy_. Pissing off shem nobles was _definitely easy._ Darkspawn – even darkspawn were _easy_ , for the most part.

Archery was not easy. Archery was definitely an anything.

Which would have been perfect, what with Leliana offering her services as archery tutor. The Orlesian could take out a horsefly at fifty yards with her bow, and had been more than willing, in her eager, sweet natured way, to teach Shirri the basics. ‘You’ll be much better prepared for battle,’ she had said, ‘and it never hurts to stay sharp, don’t you think?’

The problem lay in that breathing normally around Leliana was also rapidly becoming an anything.

Shirri hadn’t meant for it to happen. Back in Denerim, she’d been more than capable of establishing boundaries with the women she’d bedded. You had to, in the Alienage. Most of them had been married, and those that weren’t were her friends outside the bedroom. A quick tumble with a willing partner, never to be spoken about unless it happened again. And Shirri hadn’t let too many of them happen again. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

And then, Leliana.

The image of the mild-mannered Chantry sister, soft pink robes spattered with blood and vivid red hair glowing like a halo in the firelight, deft fingers curled around the hilt of a knife with a casual comfort that belied her demure exterior, was still burned into Shirri’s mind as sure as if she’d been branded with a hot iron.

_That’s why I’m coming with you. The Maker told me to._

_Uh. I. Uh. Well, uh, I mean, I won’t turn away help when it’s offered, so, uh…_

Alistair had looked at her incredulously as the stuttering acceptance passed her lips, Morrigan’s quip rolling over her head. Shirri’s ears had turned that infuriating shade of pink as she had heard her own shambling voice. _Edhis_ , she’d thought. _You sound like a fucking idiot._ There had been something about the bloodstained woman, silver-blue eyes so large and sincere, yet such an easy grace with a dagger. Despite herself, Shirri had been fascinated.

A sudden hand on her elbow brought her back to the moment. Leliana may have spoken like a lady, but she had a bard’s hands. Rough palms from years of wielding daggers, and callused, leathery fingers from so many loosed arrows and plucked lute strings.

‘If you bring this up a little higher,’ she murmured, guiding Shirri’s elbow higher, before dropping her hand to the elf’s shoulder. ‘And drop this a little lower…’

Shirri’s heart was thundering in her chest, the blush in her ears creeping slowly down towards her face. _You’re getting worked up over a shem. You fucking idiot._ ‘It’s a... it’s a stance thing, then?’ she asked, slowly, biting back a stammer.

Leliana nodded, the same sly smile again playing on her lips. ‘Sort of. You’re too tight in your shoulders, you have to relax. Ease into the position.’ The other hand now rested on Shirri’s other shoulder, the impossibly light touch barely grazing Shirri’s skin. The elf was painfully aware of the bard’s proximity – she was certain that she had moved closer – as Leliana pressed into her back, sliding a hand down her arm to adjust Shirri’s grip on the bow. She was so close that the elf could feel her breath on her cheek. ‘That’s it,’ Leliana murmured. ‘Now you breathe, and watch your target in your mind’s eye.’

 _She’s standing behind me_ , thought Shirri, taking a gulp of air as she tried to slow her breathing. She was sure that the bard could hear her heartbeat, feel the thrum of adrenaline below her skin that lifted her hairs on end wherever the woman’s skin made contact with her own. She’d probably been trained to pick up on things like that in Orlais. She probably knew exactly – _Maker’s balls, did she know what she was doing?_ A bead of sweat began to form on Shirri’s temple.

‘I. I got it.’

‘Alright,’ breathed Leliana. ‘Arrow to your cheek, up here.’ Her fingers brushed Shirri’s face as she lifted the notched arrow. Shirri’s heart was by now banging a frantic march against her ribcage, the pink flush travelling across her face at an alarming speed. When she felt a booted foot suddenly nudge her feet apart, a thigh brushing ever so lightly against the space between her own, the march came to an abrupt halt, and Shirri briefly considered the ramifications of passing out in the middle of her lesson. ‘Your stance should be a little wider,’ whispered the bard. Shirri could do little more than nod awkwardly, a strangled grunt of understanding escaping her throat with what was possibly the last few shreds of decorum that she could muster. ‘I think you’re ready.’

There was a sudden, uncomfortable lack of Leliana as the woman withdrew, the space between them now feeling unbearably cold. Shirri gasped at the chill and loss of unexpected contact, the surprise reverberating through her body as her fingers snapped away from the bowstring. The arrow whistled at lightning speed from the bow, straight and true and –

Thud.

Leliana let out a girlish squeal, a thousand miles from the husky whisper she had sang into Shirri’s ear only a moment ago, and threw her arms about the elf’s shoulders. ‘You did it!’ she giggled, squeezing the shorter woman tightly. Shirri kept her eyes fixed on the arrow, now planted firmly in the tree, her chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths as she attempted to regain her composure.

‘I… I did,’ she mumbled, with a small smile.

‘Oh, you’ll be wonderful at this in no time at all,’ the redhead continued, holding the Warden at arm’s length and beaming widely.

Shirri let out a choked laugh, rubbing the side of her nose with her free hand. ‘I. Yeah. I think maybe you’re just a good teacher,’ she mumbled, uncomfortably aware of the burn across her face.

Leliana giggled awkwardly. _Is she nervous?_ ‘You’re a very good student,’ she replied, her own cheeks now blooming faintly pink.

Shirri returned her awkward laugh, rubbing her nose again and fixing her eyes on the floor. ‘I, uh. Maybe that’s enough for today? I sort of want to end it on a high, and I don’t want to, uh, run out of arrows. Or something,’ she added, wincing at the painful excuse. _I don’t want to be a fool of myself_ , she thought. _Well, any more of a fool of myself._

‘Of course! Of – yes, that’s fine, I – I understand,’ Leliana stuttered, stumbling over her words as she scrambled for the quiver that lay on the floor, keeping her own gaze as far from Shirri’s as possible. ‘I hope I didn’t – I mean – I hope I wasn’t –’

‘No!’ barked Shirri, harsher than intended. In the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair’s face turn to the source of the noise from the camp. She gave him a meek wave. ‘No,’ she repeated, lowering her voice, taking another deep breath. ‘You were – you were very helpful, Lel. Thank you.’ She furrowed her brows. ‘I’m still sort of shit at this without you.’

Leliana’s small smile had returned. ‘It’s all about practice. I’d be happy to help again tomorrow, if you’d like?’

 _I would. I would like that. And this evening, too, if you’re free?_ No. That’s the kind of cheap line she might have pulled in the Alienage, but not here. Not with Leliana. ‘Yes, that’d be lovely.’

_Lovely?_

The soft blush crept back across Leliana’s cheeks. _Maker, she’s beautiful_ , thought Shirri, a familiar ache stirring in her chest, an ache that sounded like a soft song and smelled liked Andraste’s Grace and hair like a fiery halo.

‘Oh, good. Um –’ Leliana paused, her fingers bouncing off each other nervously. ‘I – I’ll see you back at the camp, then.’

Shirri watched the woman wander back to the camp, where Alistair had cooked some sort of meat into some sort of gravy that rose in a surprisingly appetizing cloud of steam above the tents. She had to address this, she thought to herself as she unstrung the bow. It was getting awkward. Maker’s ass, she’d even managed to make the woman feel uncomfortable with her adolescent sweating and stammering. Shirri scowled at the bow in her hand, silently cursing the thing for putting her through this. Archery was still an anything. So was Leliana.


	2. Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 - The notion of endings was a new one to Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one is a bit more poetic than narrative - I find Solas too fun to write and these short drabble-y type ficlets are so good for self-indulgent philosophising)

Endings had never been much of anything before.

Before death had been sleep, but sleep was not an ending, but a metamorphosis; a translation to a different state of existence, a stage of life so ineffably separate to the one before, but never an ending. And when the wars came and death became real and tangible and almost friendly, it had never felt finite in the way it did now – the departed were merely that, departed, different, transmuted to a different realm of being and form and matter. Now, death was different. Death was simply death. Real, tangible, cold, grey death.

And then there had come other endings. The end of magic; free, wild, uncanny, terrifying magic reflecting innumerable realities like so many mirrors locked in each other’s gaze. The end of shades and spirits, curious and kind and willing to offer their wit. The end of eternal summers and bountiful harvests reaped with the gifts of these eldritch friends and the concentrated will of those who asked. The end of never knowing endings, as forever tumbled down in so many mistakes.

Among his few triumphs and countless failures, Solas’ greatest creation, his most powerful invention, was endings. 

In definite numbers, Solas had no idea how long he’d been alive. Too long. But not long enough. Not when he considered what could have been. But she, she knew. In years, months, and days, she knew how long she had lived. And endings were real for her, not the abstract concept of conclusion that Solas still struggled with, and so those numbers mattered. And it mattered how many of those days she spent at his side, and Solas greedily accepted them like a child tempted with sweets. If he had known her before he dissolved infinity, time and days would not have been numbered – a week, a month, a year, a decade, the distance between their meetings would have been nothing to the millennia that awaited them. But time was real now, endings were real, and endings were rapidly approaching with a haste that terrified him. And endings were inevitable now, he had seen to that, and did this ending come with mortality and rattled breath and hollow cheeks, or did it come with lined faces and silver hair and soft final whispers, or did it come with the truth, his truth, and broken promises and broken smiles? And end had to come, he had made certain of it, and it hurt. Hurt like shards of glass lodged in his chest, twisting with every soft kiss and tender embrace.

Solas would watch her, laughing, head thrown back and sunbright hair refracting in the morning glow bathing Skyhold’s courtyards. He watched her when she fought, cloaked in the Fade yet so painfully distant from it, her eyes glittering green in the light of her magic. He watched her when she slept, curled into his chest and breathing so gently he wondered if he had ended uthenera at all. He captured every moment with a hunger that scared him, committed each glance to memory like a dedicated archivist, building his own private library of their days as a memorial to her temporality. She was a mistake, his mistake, on so many levels – the power he had mistakenly bestowed upon her, the lines on her face a testament to their mistaken history, her magic the dim remnant of his mistaken victory, her love the greatest mistake he had made since. And yet he stayed, counting the days in a way he had never even considered, each sunset a reminder of another mistake in not letting her go, in placing his own selfish desires above what he had to do, and of what that would do to her.

Solas had created endings, and now they were trying to destroy him. In another life, another world, a world where he had not birthed the very concept of finitude, they could have shared lifetimes. But endings had to come. Nothing lasted forever. Not anymore.


End file.
